What Lies Beneath
by Mawarumawaru
Summary: Tiedoll saved him, he helped him erase the pain, and most importantly he baptized him with the colors of a new name. It may not make the past go away, but it does help one start anew. TiedollxKanda fluff.


This is my first D. Gray Man fanfic that I have actually posted, and for once I am actually quite proud of myself-I am not a very confident writer. =_= Any way this is a Oneshot on how Tiedoll meets Kanda and a bit on how Kanda gets his new name. It is based shortly after Kanda escapes the labs once killing Alma, and the life he endured before the Order got him back.

I really hope you all enjoy it!

Rated T for references to rape, though very minor mentions.

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><p><strong>What Lies Beneath<strong>

Shaking hands pressed to the firm chest of the looming shadow, as a child's eyes rose to meet the smoldering depths above. He knew what that look meant, even if he understood very little of why it happened, or what it was for. Like so many things the child did not comprehend, this was just something he had come to accept in one form of another. It wasn't something that made him feel good, in fact, it made his little body feel so very _wrong_.

But, it was inevitable, he knew that. It would consume him until its grips let him fall to the mattress beneath again, he knew that too. He would lie in his place and let the tears fall like a stream of his unspoken fears. Unspoken because he could not speak, well that was incorrect, he could _speak_, but not in any dialect that would cease the actions of the form above.

This man could not understand the child's mother tongue, his pleas for mercy were lost in translation and choking sobs, while little fists clung to stained sheets.

He could do nothing but lie underneath the shadow's cold, jaded eyes.

"Ma-masuta..." a small, raspy voice whimpered, the English word 'Master' heavily laced with the child's accent. Master, the only word he knew to say to the man; one that had been beaten into his small frame time and time again.

The boy did not know how long he had been confined in this place, in some respect it had felt like an instant of mere moments, and in others it seemed like millenniums were passing by. He could still remember the sight of blue skies, ones that were so beautiful that they were almost spiteful-ones that his only companion would never get to meet because of him. He could still feel the cold winds that wafted around him while he walked, and walked, so far he had no concept of direction after a while. He could still taste the thick air of the first civilization he had come across, the flavor of hope when he saw water again. He could remember the smell of perfume that he was greeted with as a well dressed woman pushed past him, the feeling of being invisible to the crowds entirely. They had no need to look after another dirty, unwanted child.

This man was the first one to see him, the first one to speak to him, even if the words he spoke were coded in verses of language that the boy could not understand. It didn't matter that there was a language barrier, the child was merely happy to be seen; happy to be noticed even for just a moment. The boy with the once molten temper and fiery eyes had been reduced to a shell, the mourning in his heart having eroded away the soul that longed for its other half-the half he had destroyed. Now, even as his body still trembled at the discomfort of being touched, he lacked the strength to make his muscles fight back. No, they would not retaliate again. Not after he had killed the only being he wanted to stay with him.

Not after Alma.

So no matter how much this man hurt him, no matter if this person took him away from his country and brought him to another much more foreign land, he would not lay a hand on him. The child had already seen too much of the realities of the world, he had already seen the flowing rivers of red, felt the clinging of the metallic tasting liquid that painted his skin. Creating new suffering was not something he ever wanted to do, even if these humans were the beings that forced Alma and he into existence for their own selfish war.

For the sake of not seeing that blood filled landscape again, the boy would lie still as the demon he called master took his body hungrily again and again, and lit the fires of confusion and pain within his own personal hell-a hell the child would apparently never escape. Rather it was the excruciating syncro tests or the painful tainting of his innocent body, the young boy knew that the humans of this world would continue to abuse his abilities and crush his mind.

For the scientist, his body was a vessel for innocence, a tool for creating an ultimate exorcist, and his regeneration was a key asset to make up for the fatal amounts of testing he would endure. For this man, those regenerative abilities made him the ideal toy; one that would never break. He could play with him time and time again and the only thing at risk of shattering was the child's mind.

The mind which was already in pieces.

Riddled with hallucinations of images he wished could be real, and the memories he begged could have just been illusions, his mind was already a minefield of shattered fragments much to sharp to touch, but much too alluring to keep from grasping. Each time the boy would try to grab hold of the past, when things were a little bit more simple, he would find his grips shredding. His memory would collect the pieces of his torn thoughts while the wounds repainted everything red once more, the curtains closing just out of his reach.

So, he was forced to remain in the real world, unable to attain the memories of happiness, perhaps he had never been happy to begin with.

A sickening slicking sound was heard as the child realized that his 'master' had pulled himself from the boy, leaving him panting and whimpering in pain. Relief washed through the child in waves flooding his senses, ragged breaths of exhaustion and some form of gratitude that it was over heaved his chest as he watched his owner hurriedly pull his own clothing back into place. Something was wrong, his master was never that fast with their sessions, never kind enough to let the pain stop, yet here he was walking away so soon.

A strand of shouted words barked from the man's mouth, his eyes full of annoyance and the child worried for what he had done wrong. But, it appeared his master was not focused on him this time, the man's sights aimed at the door to the hall were a pounding sound now resounded and made itself known. Suddenly the man's eyes were back on him, and more cryptic language formed from his lips, the words were short and clipped as if he was trying to speak quickly and much to the child's dismay he could not understand any of it.

With a hasty toss the older man threw the ragged shirt and shorts, that the boy had been allotted to wear, back into the child's possession and motioned to put them on. That much the boy understood, and in a moment the young child made to move his abused body into the garments, hissing at the protest his sore inner muscles gave; he could already feel his regeneration abilities kicking in to pull his insides back into place. It was never a pleasant feeling, and as the wounded body sickeningly slid back together he could feel himself teeter back toward the mattress he had just stood from. He couldn't help it; healing always made him tired.

The footsteps of his master thundered out to the front room and out of his sights, leaving the child to crumble and fall to his knees, letting his head slump against the side of the bed, his dark bleary eyes focused on a small spot on the wall and choosing to think of that rather than look down at his pitiful self.

He would have never stood for being hurt like this before, without some sort of retaliation forcing him to his feet to stand his ground, but now it did not even seem he had the will to keep living. If his body wasn't so durable he had no doubt that he would no longer be alive. He wanted to live, more than anything, but this did not feel like living-it felt like hell. It hurt, and he didn't understand why. He did not understand why humans always seemed to find new ways to hurt him. And most of all, he did not understand why he was alive if this was all he was good for.

Was he just a toy for humans to use? Yes, that must have been it from the very beginning.

Alma and he both; they were playthings for humanity.

Only now Alma was free, and he was still here, still a toy. Why hadn't he let Alma take him with him? Fear. Oh yes, that was it. Fear of what was on the other side for something like him, fear of how it would feel to be free of his body and most of all the simple fear of dying. Was that normal? Did all beings fear death?

It seemed to be the case. Why else would they create him to fight for them, to keep them alive. Yes, all things feared death; but Second Exorcists like he and Alma were suppose to be the exception. They were not human, they were experiments, tools or weapons to be used by the thing known as the Black Order-something he would never be able to see eye to eye with. He and Alma were disposable.

Like broken toys.

Dark eyes snapped back up to look at the door, the cool fogginess of vision still hovering in his depths. Someone had come through the door, but it wasn't someone he had ever seen before, and that fact alone made the child curl closer in on himself; he didn't know how to deal with this new threat without hurting the strange man.

"M-asutā wa dokodesu ka?" The child tried in a small voice, his eyes clearly guarded as his distrust filtered into his voice. But the words were lost to the man clad all in black, his face full of confusion as he looked back to the door calling out someones name-or so the boy assumed.

After a tense moment of time ticking by another form entered the room, calmly nodded to the other man who nodded in return and saluted before making his way out of the room. This new man was clearly of some form of higher authority, the boy dully noted. His dark eyes took in the man's appearance with apprehension. Where had his master gone and who was this strange man?

He looked to be older than the last man to enter, his greying curly hair was pulled into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck and he too was clad in an all black jacket, only this one seemed to be adorned in gold ornaments rather than silver like the last man he saw. His glasses reflected what little light in the room and glinted majestically, making him look all the wiser in appearance.

Wide dark eyes watched the older being with trepidation looming in his shadowed depths, analyzing the man in attempts to understand what he was and if he was trustworthy. But that was an unnecessary question, there was no one that this child trusted. Humanity was far too cruel to earn his faith. The Black Order, his master, and even the people on the city streets; humans were evil through and through.

The child had yet to realize that he was not the only one studying another being, as the man watched him closely, only his glasses shielded depths were filled with an air of calm and even a tinge of relief. The man held a photo in his hand that the boy could not catch a good view of, and he held it up as if to compare the sight before him to the still framed moment in time. With a soft smile the man stepped closer and knelt to the child's level, only causing the boy to curl further away from him.

There was no doubt in the man's mind that this was the boy they were looking for, a lost experiment of the Order; a chosen warrior or the church known as a Second Exorcist. Despite the distinct difference in appearance from the picture, there was no mistaking this boy's features. He was a beautiful child, even covered in the dirt of his prison, the man could see the flawless attributes of the porcelain doll.

With an angular face and poised features, each perfectly curving to accentuate his Asian looks, framed elegantly by the mess of inky locks hanging like perfect silken curtains along his forehead and round cheeks. He honestly did have the appearance of a doll, one that was beautifully crafted like an art form all his own, that no other doll maker could hope to replicate. But even that was not the most striking part of the child; it was his eyes. Eyes far too deep for a child to possess, that spoke of the hardships that he had endured. Their dark, vacant depths distant, glassed over with the reservation of misery, it made the child look all the more like the doll he appeared to bore into the soul at merely a glance, the distrust swirling in those dark pools that passed between them was heartbreaking. It was clear that this boy no longer believed he could trust another living soul.

He looked so very broken, and so very alone.

But, the man thought, he could see the fire that once dwelt behind dark eyes; a flame that lit this child once before, and one that longed to burn again. This boy was a blazing aura of strength, even if it seemed the child had forgotten it himself. He would make an excellent exorcist one day-and most importantly-he would grow to become and excellent man. One with conviction and strength in heart, even if he still bore the scars of his tragic past.

Dark eyes met his as the child he spoke of looked up to him, noticing the movement of the man drawing closer and finding himself growing more uncomfortable. The child's little fingers curled into the stained fabric, where his palm had been resting against the mattress he had slumped into. His eyes flickered with fear and the man knew it would be a good idea to make contact with the child before the boy refused reasoning at all in favor of running away.

"Nǐ jiào shénme míngzì?" The man asked, hoping to get this child talking, even if it was only his name he spoke, but it seemed the question was lost to the boy who blinked vacant eyes slowly at the strand of foreign words. With a small sigh the man made to speak again, inquiring if it was in fact Chinese the boy spoke. "Nǐ huì shuō hànyǔ ma?"

The child's mind possessed the words as much as his fractured mind would allow, eyes lowering to the floor while he thought. The gears in his psyche churned, trudging up what memories he could without breaking himself again. He could hear that language in his thoughts, remember it being spoken by some of the scientist at the Asian Branch, but no matter how he tried to remember which words to speak he could not. His mind was not up for translating his mother tongue into one he barely spoke. It was Chinese, that much the child knew, but he did not know enough of it to hold up a conversation-especially when his mind refused to process his own words at times. So, he would resolve to keeping quiet, dark doll-like eyes remaining to the floor.

Another thought seemed to pass through the older man in front of him as he opened his mouth to speak again, only this time the words that formed greeted his ears with a relieving sense of familiarity. "What about Japanese? Do you speak Japanese?" The man said, spoken in a clear and perfect pronunciation of said language.

The boy let the sound ring in his ears for a moment before looking up to the man, eyes glinting with understanding for the first time in so very long. He had not spoken to anyone clearly since he had left the labs. He felt like crying, and he grunted at the tears that prickled at his dark eyes, teasing the boy with inevitability. The child's voice cracked as he spoke, filled with all of the pent up emotions that had plagued his muted existence. "Y-yes...I speak Japanese."

"Wonderful," the man smiled happily at the boy, "now, can I ask you a question, my boy?"

The boy let a moment pass, simply taking in the joy of being able to understand the man before him, it felt like his ears had been uncovered for the first time in months.

"What is it?" the child murmured unsure if he was even going to able to answer it anyway; there were not many things the boy understood nor felt like he could explain-especially revolving around his own life and existence.

"What's your name, son?"

The boy's eyes widened. His name? No one had spoken his name since... Since, Alma had left him. That boy had been the last one to speak his true name, and that made him instinctively curl around it like a lifeline. The thought of losing Alma's voice, of letting someone else take that phrase-take that name-felt like a betrayal; it felt _wrong_. His name was the last thing shared between them, his name and Alma's own were forever locked together, silenced by death like a final vow. He could not ever speak Alma's name to another person, they had no right to know his only companion. And, for the sake of Alma, he would never speak his own name again.

He could not betray Alma again. Not ever.

So his lips were sealed, from that moment on he would resolve to being a tool for humanity that bore no name. He would exist as the toy he had become without Alma by his side. Their names were theirs and theirs alone.

"I am a toy...I don't have a name." the child mumbled aloud, unknowingly answering the man's question with a more than perplexing answer.

But, the man thought, perhaps it made more sense than met the eye. As an artistic man his way of thinking often involved him looking into things deeper than what was on the surface. This boy had repainted his self image, with the colors of what he had learned in life. The pain and the anguish darkened the image, and realizations of the cruelties of the world splashed the scene with red, inking in the boy's own painful reality. He had painted himself into the scene as a tool for humanity, with good reason given his past, letting his image blur into the back ground and meld with the red of his hardships and regrets.

It was a strikingly haunting image, grotesque and horrible, yet beautiful at the same time. Beautiful because the boy had not given up on painting his self; he chose to live even when his other half had given in and been swallowed by the dark ink of reality. But no one could blame this boy for not seeing the triumph in his existence, the glory in being a success and surviving. He could not see that he was still one of god's chosen few. The child could only feel the weight of his past, like a darkening sheet covering his canvas.

It was too much for a child to bear, and the man could not blame him for wanting to erase it, start anew without the heavy strokes of his past. Strip his name and start on an all new canvas, one that though marred by the deep indentations of old pencil sketches ground into his being, he could begin with fresh colors of hope and strength atop. At least, that was what the older man hoped for the child, and if it took everything he had he would help the boy to repaint his past with a new name.

The man's eyes met the child's for a moment as he smiled, breathing in before speaking calmly. He would help this child if it killed him, this boy he knew was named Yuu; this boy who against all odds had lived through losing the other half of his soul.

"My name is Froi Tiedoll, it is nice to meet you...Hmm let's see," he paused, putting a finger to his lips, "Ah yes, it is a pleasure to meet you Kanda-kun." with a smile the man looked back down to the now wide eyed child.

The boy could do nothing but stare, dark eyes wide with surprise brimmed by the ever present tears. He heard the name spoken, the one that was not his and yet his entirely. It was like he had been given a new person completely, one that he could safely wear, one that no one had to see the dirt of his old body; one that he could tuck away his past into and let his true name lay protected inside. He didn't have to wear the blood of the past with this new name, this name that washed it away with sanctified waters.

Whoever this man was, this man known as Tiedoll, he had in that instant baptized the child anew-and for that the child would forever hold him in respect.

"Well now, Kanda-kun, how would you like to be my apprentice? You can become a very powerful exorcist, and I will teach you how."

Kanda, with dark eyes wide could do nothing more than nod, letting the tears finally fall to drip like crystals down his cheeks. He wasn't sure why, but even as he knew this meant returning to the Order one day, he could not help but trust this man with his new identity-his new life. Kanda did not know where to go without a guide in this new world, and he let this odd looking man take the reigns and steer his hand.

Together they would repaint the past once more, and create a new image all together.

Because this man had seen him, seen him for what was underneath the body he had been handed, beneath the dirt that had coated his being. He had seen what lies beneath the nameless child, and given him a chance to paint a new path.

"Thank you, Tiedoll."

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><p>Ugh, cursed me for making myself cry! Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it my minions, please do let me know if you'd like more.<p> 


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